Six Days
by Gater101
Summary: OneShot. It's carnal, these urges, but he doesn't wish them away.


Title: Six Days  
Summary: It's carnal, these urges but he doesn't wish them away.  
Characters: John & Teyla  
Pairing: John/Teyla  
Rating: MA  
Notes: Inspired by wedjatqi's "Needs of the Body and Soul", part one – we're quite the Bug!Shepp fans.

John knows that, after a year, the retro-virus is gone from his system. Aside from a slight blue tinge to the edge of the freckles sprinkling his body when he is cold, there is no physical evidence of the creature he'd converted into so many moons ago now. But inside, John knows there are a few differences. Aside from his increased agility, stamina and strength and the sometimes almost unconquerable urge to scale the walls, there isn't really any primal instincts left in him. Those already mentioned don't really bother him that much (not even the strange urge to climb up the central tower of Atlantis) but there was one thing, one residual change that bothered him more than the others.

He'd read somewhere – maybe in a report from one of the scientists, or in one of the men's magazines doing the rounds of the base, he couldn't quite remember – that men (fully human, non-turned-into-huge-bug-and-back men) sensed when women entered into their monthly cycle. Men noticed, sub-consciously, that women seemed suppler, more pliant, and more womanly during their special time of the month and although it was subtle and underplayed, it turned men into horny teenagers. For his part, John hadn't realised either – not before his conversion – but now that he thought back on it, he could certainly see a pattern.

Back then, he'd been horny all the time.

Now, not so much. Not to the same extent, at least. Now it was cyclical.

He'd asked his friends about it, hiding the real question behind questions of Wraith mating and birthing, dogs and bitches and for the most part, they don't question him. Carson, he thinks, knows what he's really asking because he keeps referring to Iratus and, oddly, peacocks. He knows the good doctor won't say anything unless John asks he is eternally grateful.

The dreams, though usually frequent, come with fervour for a whole six days, three weeks apart. It doesn't matter where he is – off-world, Earth, Atlantis, the seat in the Jumper, hell he's even sure he has the dreams when he's been knocked unconscious by a bash to the head if the raging hard ons he gets are anything to go by – the dreams come (unlike him), and they don't go away (like his hard ons).

It's in those six days that he becomes a hermit. Becomes a hermit and hates her. He wonders if it's maybe because he kissed her during his conversion, or if it's just because he spends so much time with her but she's the only one he reacts to and she's the only one he dreams of.

It's more than a little frustrating – especially now that she's in a habit of sitting next to him wherever they are, sparring with him in the gym and generally just being around him. He remembers – with the kind of detail that still sends him into a desirous frenzy – the first 'movie-night' they'd had as a team after his conversion which just happened to be during her cycle. He'd almost exploded; right there and then in front of Rodney and Ronon, when she'd brushed her hand over his stomach as she reached for some popcorn. Then he'd made the mistake of watching as she stuck her tongue out and drew the kernel into her mouth. He'd bit back the groan (barely) and passed the bowl to Rodney – much to the scientists delight. He hadn't meant for her then to have to lean over to grab handfuls. He'd caught Ronon watching him with a smirk as he'd watched her, the large expanse of skin exposed to his eyes and glared at the Satedan before looking away. It hadn't been long before he'd slid his eyes back to her and was mentally undressing her.

Since then, he's not tried to initiate movie night. Instead, he waits out the six days, the dreams and the urges like a patient, dying man and hopes that eventually they'll go away.

They won't and he knows it, but he can dream.

The chimes go off and he knows before they even do that the cold shower he'd just finished was for nothing. He'd sensed her coming through the corridors, working her way to him. He wonders if that's why he'd taken the shower, ensuring he'd be at least somewhat naked when she arrived – spreading his feathers, as it were. The door slides back as commanded and she enters quietly, cautiously when she sees he's not there.

"John?" She calls out and he can feel something bristle along his back. Something primal and instinctual and he can feel the effect of her already, her voice floating through his veins and stoking a kindling fire.

"In here," he calls back from his position in the bathroom, hunched over the sink, the towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He can see her approaching figure in the reflection of the mirror, but he doesn't need it. He can smell her nearness, taste her skin, feel her soft and pliant under him. Their eyes catch in the mirror and if he wasn't turned on before, he certainly was now. Her dark eyes bore into his, before sweeping over his body, heavy lidded and warm. So warm. He turns, allows her perusal of his chest and neck and lower, to the towel he wills to slip from his waist.

It's carnal, these urges but he doesn't wish them away.

He wonders if this is another dream, if he's fallen asleep in the shower and her heated dreams have seeped into his again. Her fingers skitter across his chest and he knows it's not a dream. He twitches, jerks, hand rising to her neck slowly.

They may be carnal these urges but he doesn't want to hurt her.

She bites her lip, tongue flicking out past her teeth to moisten their plump form. He feels it on another part of his body, groans and pulls her to him for a bruising kiss. He pulls back quickly and tugs her lower lip with him for second, almost drawing blood. The moan resounds all the way to his throbbing member and it too twitches.

She stares up to his eyes, smirks and he realises she knows what she is doing to him.

That she's known all along.

He smirks, let's the towel drop and pulls her to him.

It's primal - carnal - these urges but he knows he won't hurt her. She'd hurt him back just as much. She sheds her clothes quicker than he'd ever thought possible and pushes him back into the shower. He goes willingly, tugging her with him. The water pours down on top of them, but he doesn't notice it as he pushes her against the wall hard – like he knows she wants because he's had the dreams, her dreams. She moans, guttural, feline and he grinds his hips into hers, surging against her body with all of his power. He grips her buttocks and she rises easily up the wall in his arms. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't stop to ask 'why now' before he lets her slide on top of him. She's so ready for him and he groans, bites her neck, grips her hips and thrusts. She moans, loudly, his name tearing from her lips urges him on. He can feel her walls contracting around him already, quickly, so ready and willing and wanting and it's not long before her breathy moans, his hard thrusts send them both cascading over the edge.

The delirium is short lived and reality clears his brain. He looks at her flushed cheeks, wet and warm, her closed eyes, parted lips, his own ragged breath brushing against her face. He lets her slide from him and drops his head to the wall beside hers, tickles her ear with his lips, his tongue, glides his hands up her body to her breast, tweaking her nipple. Her hand on his wrist stops him and he pulls back, looks and her face and dreads the words that will follow her pensive stare.

"This is not a dream."

It's more of a question than a statement and he drops his forehead to hers, laughing lightly, shaking his head.

"No."

She slips her arms around his hips, drawing circles on his back and smiled up at him slowly.

"Then neither is this..." She mutters as she stands on tip toes, claiming his lips with her own.

It's slower this time, unlike the dream and he takes her gently, lovingly, whispering her name into the quiet, mellow air, her soft mewls and sighs heightening his desire rather than the touch, the smell, the thought of her.

He's John Sheppard and she's Teyla Emmagan.

Six days isn't long enough.


End file.
